A Rose in Thyme
by Glitter Poisoned My Blood
Summary: No one knows what to believe about the classic Folk Story regarding Prince Jace and the Harp Soloist Clary. One thing is for sure, Princess Clary died in a bed made of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Historical Oneshot J/C T for tragedy & angst.


A Rose in Thyme is a plot owned by me. The lyrics to Scarborough Fair are owned by no on in particular and are fair game to use, but I still don't own them.

To understand this story completely, please read the history of the song Scarborough Fair. Many of he more confusing metaphors, and the lines said and used and references made throughout this story are directly linked to the meanings behind the original song.

For the best experience when reading this, please listen to Scarborough Fair by your favorite artist. There are many different versions out there. This story was written while listening to the versions by Sarah Brightman, Simon & Garfunkel and Celtic Woman. Take your pick.

I don't own Mortal Instruments or Scarborough Fair. I do own a book on history, some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme plants and an iPod and a Vera Bradley notebook and pen.

* * *

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

_Parsley sage rosemary and thyme_

_Remember me to one who lives there_

_She once was a true love of mine…_

There was one large distinct between the two lovers. Yet, there were many things that were similar. Love clouded both of their decisions.

She was a harp soloist at a large Opera House.

He was a Prince of a country she had grown up in.

For them, there was nothing that they could share. He was rich; she was poor. He was rude and inconsiderate; she was humble and kind. And yet, nothing could completely keep them apart.

Except for each other.

"You have bewitched me, fair maiden, and I cannot seem to leave you behind, lest I shall leave my heart behind."

"Take me, Sire, and I shall bring your heart with you."

It was no shock that the bold Prince fell for a fiery woman. Her skills at the Opera House were famous. Many a man spent his days traveling to see operas. They did not come to see the performers sing, but rather to see the red haired beauty play her harp.

Things that separated them could never keep them apart for very long. There was nothing in the world that could stop their love from transcending the oceans that separated them. They were from two very different worlds. They were two very different people.

But they were in love. One could not deny that no one had experienced the love that the Prince had founded with the lovely woman in the small country of Idris.

The Prince was just like their first king in that way, falling for such a marvelous woman and having such a strong will against the demons.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?" he asked her as they leaned down on the soft white sheets of the king sized bed in the center of the open aired garden.

"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?" she answered, turning her head to face his completely. For him, she did everything completely. She was his completely. Make no mistake about that.

"Remember me to one who lives here."

And she would. How could she forget?

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt

_(On the side of a hill in the deep of a forest green)_

Sober and grave grows merry in time

_(Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground)_

Without no seams nor needlework

_(Blankets and bedclothes a child of the mountain)_

Then she'll be a true love of mine…

_(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call)_

He was so demanding of everything when it came to her. Clary hadn't a moment to think before Jace ordered her around again. Like a servant and like a King. That was what they were, was it not?

They were secretly wed quickly, a child coming from her womb, which they raised together in a small house on a spacious farm on the outskirts of the country.

His parents were furious.

So were hers.

The happy times were there in that house. Time seemed to move slower, but then, just like clockwork, every time, he would say those sweet words to her, and withhold the ones that she didn't want to hear.

"Blankets and bedclothes a child of the mountain," he whispered into her ear during the times of doubt.

There it was again.

He was a charmer, without a doubt.

Tell her to find me an acre of land

_(On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves)_

Every rose grows merry with time

_(Washed is the ground with so many tears)_

Between the salt water and the sea strands

_(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun)_

Then she'll be a true love of mine…

Happy times were not to last. War broke out between the Nephilim and the demons when their child was still a babe. They were the pictures of sadness as the Prince was called away from his loving wife and child to fight in the front lines of the war.

"On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves, I will be. Do not mourn my departure. I shall return before our son knows that I have gone."

Soon into the war, the house on the border of the country was no longer safe for the wife of the prince to raise their child who was now able to walk and speak. The King's soldiers brought them family minus the Prince back towards the capital city, and into the castle.

Their son asked, "Where is papa? Where has he gone?"

_You lied, Jace. You lied. You lied!_

"Washed is the ground with so many tears," she whispered to their son, "But child, you must not spill those tears, for they are the enemy."

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather

_(War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions)_

There's never a rose grows fairer with time

_(Generals order their soldiers to kill)_

And gather it all in a bunch of heather

_(And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten)_

Then she'll be a true love of mine…

When he left them, she burned. She scorned, and cried and suddenly nothing could keep her alive. Not even their son could keep her tears from being shed down her face.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?" he whispered into her ear as she slept. "I shall meet you there."

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her chest. It was a pain that had felt like no other she had ever experienced. The pain felt different somehow. It was like losing a limb, as though something had broken from her and…

It was Jace.

Dead.

"There's never a rose grows fairer with time," he whispered to her. She nodded, and finally she understood.

To this day, no one knows how the Harp Soloist was able to do what she did. The story is quite unclear and fuzzy, for it happened none less that one millennia ago.

Some say that she called the Angel Raziel and asked for his soul back, and Ithuriel came instead, demanding her beautiful soul in order to get his back. The common story, and most usual idea is that she joined him in death not second after the pain in her chest.

No one knows what to believe. One thing is for sure, Princess Clary died in a bed made of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme_

_Remember me to one who lives there_

She once was a true love of mine…

* * *

For people that are confused: This story is intended to be a folk tale that shadowhunters tell to their children. However, if the story says it happened one thousand years ago, it means that it happened at more or less the same time Jonathan Shadowhunter mixed his blood with the angels. I would guess it has been one hundred years since Jonathan became 'King' of the Shadowhunters. Jace is prince, meaning that he is a direct descendant of the first shadowhunter. K? I know it's kind of hard to really pick that up within the story, but it's there. Plain as day. I promise. Go back and read it again. You'll see it.

Reviews get Prince Jace and a free harp.


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